


Angel Pie

by cdreaiton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is confused, Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, mild crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5242742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdreaiton/pseuds/cdreaiton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is confused by endearments and thinks Dean doesn't like him as much because he's not 'pie'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel Pie

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when my mom and sister and I stay up too late talking about destiel.
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time it happens, he doesn’t think anything of it. It’s a little confusing, but most human idioms confuse him. The second time it happens, he seeks out Sam, his go-to resource for all things confusingly human.

“What is an Angel Cake?”

Sam looks up from his laptop and the research he’s doing for a new case, and turns to his trench coated friend.

“A what?” Sam asks, perplexed by the question.

“An Angel Cake. Is it some sort of cake made of Angels?” Cas repeats, tilting his head to the side slightly and scrunching his eyes in a mix of confusion and horror at the idea.

Sam makes a valiant effort not to laugh at his friend, but a few small snickers slip out despite his best attempts.

“No, Cas. Angel cake, or angel food cake, is a light, spongy type of cake. People usually put strawberries or some other kind of fruit and cream on the top. I believe it’s called angel food cake because it was so good people said it was the food of angels.”

“Angels do not eat food. We don’t require sustenance.” Cas states matter-of-factly, as though this is something all humans should know.

“Well, you and I know that, but most people don’t even really think angels are real. There’s a devil’s food cake too.”

“I see. Is this angel cake better than pie?”

“That would depend on who you ask, I guess.” Sam supplies, smiling a little at the question, “Dean would probably say that nothing is better than pie. Even angel food cake.”

Cas’ face falls slightly, and Sam wonders for a moment if this is a conversation about more than simply a person’s choice in desserts. Not wishing to pry, but still curious, Sam asks a question of his own.

“Why the sudden interest in human desserts? Are you thinking about trying eating again?”

“No,” Cas shakes his head, “I find the experience of eating food to be less enjoyable as an angel than it was as a human. I asked because Dean called me an angel cake and I was uncertain of what he meant.” He pauses for a second, as though contemplating his next words, “Was he implying that I would make good food for my brothers and sisters?”

Sam doesn’t contain his laugh this time.

“No, I don’t think he was implying that angels are cannibals, Cas. He probably meant it as an endearment.”

“Ah. Like when you call him a jerk.” Cas nods in understanding.

“Yeah, kinda like that.” Sam agrees with a slight chuckle at the thought of his frequent exchange with his brother.

“Thank you for clarifying for me Sam.” Cas says, turning to leave.

“Any time, Cas.”

Sam turns back to his research with a shake of his head, and refocuses his attention on finding a new case for them.

***

What was supposed to have been a simple salt and burn, turned into a multiple haunting of an old orphanage, and both Sam and Dean were exhausted from digging up no less than six child graves. It had been a draining night, mentally as well as physically. So the brothers had decided to take the edge off the night by stopping at a local bar and drinking until nothing mattered anymore. Typical Tuesday night after a hunt for the Winchesters. Or, at least, it had been.

They hadn’t really gone out for a night on the town since Dean and Cas had become… whatever it is they were. Sam isn’t sure if they are actually dating, or had just added some extra benefits to their friendship, but he is more familiar than he likes to admit with Dean’s morning after a good fuck look, and Cas has spent several nights in Dean’s room in the bunker instead of his own. Knowing Dean’s dislike of any discussion involving emotions or feelings, or anything else that could be considered a chick flick type moment, Sam hasn’t mentioned his observations to either of them. He figures Dean will tell him when he’s ready, and Cas probably doesn’t understand why Sam knowing would be relevant.

Sam glances over at the angel in question and chuckles to himself at how out of place the former soldier of heaven looks sitting in a dive bar in the middle of nowheresville USA, in a suit and trench coat, trying to look like he is enjoying the so far untouched beer in his hand. Reaching over, Sam swaps his empty bottle for Cas’ full one, earning him an appreciative smile. He nods in acknowledgement and turns his attention to his brother.

Where Sam is only on his fourth beer of the night, Dean has been downing shot after shot of bourbon since they had arrived a little over an hour ago. And while Dean’s tolerance for alcohol is impressive, Sam is fairly certain his brother is well and truly wasted. This is confirmed when their waitress brings them another round, and Dean practically leers at her over his glass.

“Just keep ‘em coming. We’re gonna be here all night.” Dean slurs mildly with a wink.

“I don’t know. I think you’ve had just about enough big guy.” She returns with a smile.

“Is that an invitation, sweetie pie?” Dean propositions in his typical fashion.

Cas’ entire body tenses, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Sam. He decides to intervene before his brother inadvertently destroys his relationship with the angel because he’s too drunk to think about what he’s doing.

“I doubt it, Dean. She looks way too smart to stoop to your level.” Ignoring the angry comments from Dean’s direction, Sam turns to their server, “Sorry about him. We’ll take our check now and get this lech home before he passes out on your floor.”

“Don’t worry about it, hun. We get his type in here all the time.” She waves his apology aside and heads off to get their bill.

“Cas, why don’t you drive,” Sam says, tossing the Impala keys to the angel, “I’ll get this idiot to the car.”

Cas nods tersely in acknowledgement, and quickly leaves the bar. Sam quickly pays their tab, then turns his attention to Dean, grabbing his arm and hauling him to his feet.

“Time to go Dean. Before you make even more of an ass of yourself.”

“What the hell, Sammy! You’re cramping my style here!” Dean protests loudly as his brother practically carries him out of the bar.

“You’ll thank me in the morning when you’re sober and Cas is still talking to you.”

Dean continues to complain the entire way to the car, but Sam pointedly ignores him and deposits his brother in the back seat, where Dean promptly falls asleep. Sam then slips into the passenger side and Cas carefully pulls out of the bar’s parking lot.

Although Sam is used to driving in silence with Dean, the atmosphere in the Impala is heavy with the tension radiating from Cas.

“You know,” Sam starts, “Dean can be a colossal ass when he drinks too much, but I don’t think he was really interested in that girl. He… He cares for you, Cas. But relationships freak him out. They always have. Every time he gets close to a person, he gets, well, scared, and he starts unconsciously doing things to push them away. Make them think that he _is_ the terrible person _he_ thinks he is. So… Don’t take what happened back there too hard, alright? Don’t let him sabotage what you two have.”

Several long moments pass with no response from Cas, and Sam sighs as his shoulders slump in resignation. The rest of the hour long drive to the bunker is quiet and awkward.

***

“I will take care of him.”

Sam stops halfway through opening the back door of the Impala, and turns to Cas, one eyebrow raised slightly in question.

“Please go inside and get some sleep. I will take care of Dean.” Cas places his hand on the door and pulls it open the rest of the way, stepping around Sam and leaning down to pull on Dean’s arm, hauling him into a sitting position.

“Alright,” Sam replies, turning and heading for the bunker, “Let me know if you need anything.” He pauses just before he reaches the door. “Will you at least think about what I said?”

“Yes, Sam, I will. Goodnight.” Cas’ reply is terse, but not angry, which Sam takes as a good sign.

“Goodnight, Cas.” Sam returns, and heads towards his room for some much needed rest.

***

It takes some finagling, and no small application of angelic strength, but Cas finally manages to maneuver the unconscious hunter into his room and onto the bed. He places a glass of water on the nightstand, and sits in the chair in the corner of the room. Dean has frequently lectured him on how creepy it is when Cas watches him sleep, but it is an activity Cas has always found… calming.

Their lives are so hectic and dangerous, always looking over their shoulders for the next big bad to attack, that peace is a rare and beautiful gift when it comes. But sleep is something else entirely. And that’s what makes watching Dean sleep so appealing to the angel. The harsh lines of worry and fear fade away from his face, and the constant tension from being ready to fight or run at a moment's notice eases from his muscles. In Cas’ opinion, Dean is at his most attractive during these forced moments of respite. So he savors them whenever he can.

As he watches Dean sleep, Cas tries to think of the best way to handle the situation when Dean wakes. Sam’s words to him in the car hadn’t come as a surprise to the angel. He had already deduced as much from watching Dean in the few other relationships he had been in. But Cas is different. He knows of the brothers’ work, and is even able to participate and assist when needed. He knows more of the evil Dean has done in his life, and death, than even Sam does. So although he agrees with Sam about Dean’s tendency to sabotage his relationships, Cas isn’t convinced that is what is happening now. No, Cas is certain something bigger, something more relationship breaking, is going on.

Just as he’s steeled himself for the conversation he knows must happen, Dean begins to stir.

“Ugh. My head,” Dean sits up, palm to his forehead as his hangover makes itself known, “Just how much did I drink last night?”

“Twelve shots and half of one of Sam’s beers.” Cas supplies.

Dean’s head whips around to look at the angel, startled by the response he hadn’t been expecting.

“Jesus, Cas! Have you been watching me sleep again? I told you to stop that shit, it’s creepy.” Dean runs a hand absent mindedly through his sleep mussed hair and takes a sip of the water next to him.

“I was not watching you sleep Dean,” Cas says a bit defensively, “I was watching _over you_ while you slept. You had quite a lot to drink before you passed out in the car, and I wanted to be certain you were alright.”

“Well, thanks I guess,” Dean responds, a mild blush tinting his cheeks, “But you could of just mojo’d the drunk away and gone to your own room. Speaking of mojo, do you think you could…” Dean waves his hand vaguely in the direction of his throbbing head.

Cas sighs quietly, and stands. He supposes having a serious conversation with Dean will be easier and more productive if the man in question isn’t trying to think through his hangover, and Cas doesn’t really feel like waiting until the pain works itself out. Besides, he truly hates seeing the hunter in pain. A quick tap to the forehead clears Dean of his headache and the alcohol induced dehydration.

“Thanks, man,” Dean stands and clasps a hand on Cas’ shoulder in gratitude, “I feel good as new. But man am I starving. I think we still have some take out in the fridge.”

As Dean begins to head for the door, Cas puts a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Wait, Dean,” he says calmly, his voice void of emotion, “We need to talk.”

Dean’s blood runs cold at those four simple words. Of all the conversations he’s had in his life, and there have been many, not a single good thing had followed the words ‘we need to talk’.

“Cas, hey, look. If this is about what I said to that server lady last night, I’m sorry, man. I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking straight. It didn’t mean anything I swear. Let’s just forget it ever happened and go back to being us, okay?” 

Dean knows it sounds lame even as the words leave his mouth. But while his experience with relationships is minimal, Cas’ is limited to Dean and that one brief hook up with the crazy angel bitch that had killed him. He mentally crosses his fingers that Cas’ easy going nature will let this one fuck up slide. But when the hand on his arm tightens, he knows it’s not going to be that easy.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean tries again, placing his hand over the angel’s, “I promise I didn’t mean anything by it. Old habits and all that. Look,” Dean rubs his hand through his hair again, the blush darkening, “I’m no good at this emotional crap, but… Well… I… I like you. I mean… I… I love you, Cas.” The grip on his arm loosens, and Dean allows himself a small sigh of relief.

“But not as much as you love pie.”

Dean almost laughs at the absurdity of the statement, but stops himself when he sees the serious look in Cas’ eyes.

“Cas,” Dean begins, martialing his tremendous force of will to keep his voice as serious as possible, “As much as I love pie, I would never eat a bite again if it meant you and I could stay together. Okay?”

Cas ponders for a moment, and Dean waits, forcing himself to breathe normally.

“But I’m a cake.”

Dean is so shocked by the bizarreness of the statement, he can’t think of a response. Cas continues.

“Is my vessel the problem? Would you prefer it if I found a female vessel? Someone who is more like pie?” Cas looks up at him as he asks, head tilting to the side.

Dean finds himself very suddenly needing to sit. He feels like he’s woken up in some bizarre version of reality where people are dessert items on a buffet menu. He flops down onto the bed and drops his head into his hands, trying to make sense of… anything. After a few moments of confused silence, he looks back up at Cas.

“Why don’t you sit for a second and tell me what’s going on in that feathered head of yours before my brain implodes.”

Cas does as he’s asked and sits on the bed next to Dean.

“You said I was a cake. But you called that woman last night a pie. And Sam assures me you like pie better than any kind of cake, even the angel kind…”

Dean bursts out laughing. He knows he shouldn’t because this is a serious matter to Cas, but the absurdity of it is just too much.

“This is about me calling you Angel Cake?” Dean asks between bursts of laughter.

“Yes, Dean. And last night you called that woman Sweetie Pie. And you like pie better than cake so…” Cas furrows his brow when Dean begins to laugh harder, “I do not see the humor in you preferring the waitress over me.”

Dean wheezes a bit as he attempts to rein in his laughter. It takes him a few moments, but he manages it. Barely.

“Cas. Sweetie Pie, Angel Cake, they’re both just turns of phrase. Endearments. It doesn’t mean I like that girl more than you.” Dean places a hand on Cas’ knee. When the angel looks at him, he can tell Cas isn’t quite convinced. “Would you rather I called you Angel Pie?”

“Yes. I would like that much better.” Cas nods.

“Okay. Angel Pie it is.” Dean agrees, pulling Cas in for a kiss before he starts laughing again.

They are _very_ late for lunch.

***

“Did you grab the salt Dean?”

“No, Sammy, I figured we’d gank this ghost without it this time.” Dean retorts, rolling his eyes.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean turns to where Cas is packing the last few weapons into a duffel. “You ready Angel Pie?”

“Yes. I believe that is everything. I am ready when you are.” Cas grabs the duffel and heads for the garage.

“Angel Pie?” Sam asks once said angel is out of earshot.

“Long story. Don’t ask. Let’s go.” Dean responds tersely, heading after Cas.

Sam smiles knowingly and picks up his own gear, following after his brother. He almost makes it to the car before he can’t help himself anymore.

“How exactly do you make an angel pie?” Sam asks teasingly, tossing his bag in the trunk.

“Shut up, Sam.”


End file.
